I always suspected it would be because it was all wrong. In 2011 the government passed the fixed term parliament act, which meant there would be an election on the first Thursday of May five years after the last election. The incumbent government used to be able to choose when to have the election at a time convenient, within a 3-5 year period and that gave them an enormous advantage. The 2015 general election followed the new law but neither Theresa May nor Boris Johnson believed it applied to them and because they are the government they can amend laws whenever they like, tomorrow will be the second general election since 2015. And tomorrow’s election isn’t even in May.
Every music teacher in the land groaned at the thought of a December election. Fitting an election into a schedule where a mince pie for breakfast, a Quality Street lobbed at you from a distance makes a good lunch and a couple of chips stolen from a family member’s plate as you leave the house, dressed as the Michelin man to play carols in the freezing cold seemed impossible. Watching debates and keeping up with the news has been next to impossible.
Normally, I would read the manifestos and make up my own mind but this time I’ve had to rely on the sound bites and snippets that I get from the radio and Twitter. I watched a few TV debates and have always been a Question Time junky, although I do miss David Dimpledknees.
Every day the election campaign got weirder. There were things you couldn’t write in a dystopian novel because no one would believe you.
Instead of being a poll to find out who is most popular it seems to be choosing the person you dislike the least and politicians have gone out of their way to show us why we should hate them.
Jeremy Corbyn has been his usual humourless, uncompromising self. Members of his own party have been recorded saying that they can’t win the election because of him. The chief Rabbi has told everyone not to vote Labour because the leader is anti-Semitic. The deputy resigned and Jeremy wished that the horseradish he gave him would thrive (this is an allotment owners curse). After all these years of austerity and cuts to public services, where schools, the NHS, social care and even to a certain extent the Police are at crisis point a Labour government should have won easily but Jeremy Corbyn can’t quite understand that people need to be persuaded. The party are divided on the issue of Brexit and the leader has decided to sit on the fence.
Jo Swinson has annoyed everyone because she’s a woman and no one likes her dresses. Sarah Vine said she liked her. Then she upset a lot of women, who don’t want your average teenage pervert to be able to hang out in ladies toilets because he says that today he feels like a woman, by saying
Boris Johnson has been delighting everyone with his buffoonery. People seem to love him for it. Personally, I can’t understand that. An idiot with an impressive vocabulary and ability to quote Greek myths in Latin is still an idiot.
I have learnt a lot of new words from him and have been keeping a Boris dictionary on my phone. Lacuna has been my favourite so far.
“He’s not an idiot, he’s impulsive,” I was told by someone yesterday.
His impulses aren’t those of a sane person and he has been a gift to those of us that like to mock. Every day it seems to get a little worse. He has been very clear on his single message. “Get Brexit done,” he shouts as he knocks down a wall with a digger, grinning like a happy toddler before striding away to let others clear up the mess. He keeps telling us that he has a half-baked deal. Sorry, I think the phrase he used was oven ready but they amount to the same thing. He took a journalists phone and shoved it in his pocket to avoid looking at the picture he was being shown, he made throat slitting actions while talking about the NHS on LBC radio. And then, today he hid in a fridge.
When my children were still at home and I got a little stressed I would often lose things. My keys accidentally ended up in the fridge a few times and so whenever I couldn’t find something one of them would shout, “have you checked the fridge?” If only one of my children had been working on GMB yesterday.
People running around, panicking because the live broadcast with the PrimeMinister is due to start.
“Have you seen him?”
“No. He was here and then he found out that we weren’t going to just take selfies and let him play with a digger.”
“Really? Weren’t we? I’ve built a wall specially.”
“Damon, you prize idiot. I know you’re not being paid for this work experience but...”
“Sorry, I thought it would be fun.”
“Well anyway, he’s gone.”
“Apparently, he didn’t want to talk about the NHS, lying or anything really. He wanted to drive a milk float. It’s been a lifelong ambition.”
“We’ve lost the Prime Minister.”
“Have you checked the fridge?”
I know it didn’t exactly go like this, however it is the last in a long line of funny things.
Tomorrow, we will get a rest. They will be standing outside their polling stations, trying to get a feel on how people have voted. The press aren’t allowed to comment and we will have to wait until the early hours of the morning to see how it’s going.
I will make time to vote even though I’m cross that they are asking us to. I will also take my dog for his #dogsatpollingstations selfie and see if he ends up on the Chinese news with the caption that could translate to something about looking like a tasty dinner.
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